


tie me up tie me down [please please me]

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bruises, Dom!Charles and Sub!Erik, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Sensory Deprivation, Silence Kink, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	tie me up tie me down [please please me]

title: tie me up tie me down [please please me]  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)**ninemoons42**  
word count: approx. 1700  
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr. One mention of Sebastian Shaw, who does not actually appear in this fic.  
rating: NC-17  
notes: This began in my notebook, five or six pages in my fucked-up handwriting, all for the pleasure of working with my calligraphy pen.

  
When Erik wakes up he almost immediately has to cringe away from the bright sunlight falling right onto his face, right into his eyes.

Warmth is good, though, and this kind is intoxicating and even welcome. Any day when he doesn’t feel an old chill in his bones, when he doesn’t carry the memory of long winters that seemed never-ending when he was in the thick of them, is a good day in his books.

At least, when he can be persuaded to think about “good”.

He tries to stretch, to turn away from the bright haze, to expose his back to the sun - and that’s when he feels the knots against his skin. Silk, whisper-soft, strong and supple, tied tightly. Now he can feel the blood thumping in his veins as he moves, or tries to, and finds out that he’s held fast.

He’s at full extension, splayed out, bound at wrist and ankle.

He doesn’t struggle.

Maybe he should, but - and this actually makes him smile, a predatory amused rapid flash of teeth and nothing more - lying here is better for him. He’s caught, he’s pinned. He’s under control, and it is sweet terrible relief to give over, and wait patiently for what is to come.

Erik breathes, calm and content for once. One breath, and another.

He closes his eyes and turns his face toward the sunlight.

Time must pass, he thinks, muzzily, because eventually something moves in his vicinity: a pocket full of change (coins of various shapes and sizes and metals, pleasantly discordant), a chain-link bracelet that he’s more than familiar with (three nights of effort, of concentrating until he was breathless and dizzy). Back and forth the metal moves as if to taunt him, daring him to reach out and grasp for it, to pull at the one carrying and wearing it.

Erik lies still and counts each pass. The regularity is soothing.

Perhaps it should have taken more than just this, harsher measures than silken knots and welcome winter warmth, to teach him patience.

Perhaps another instructor would have tried harshness with Erik - only to fail, and to be overpowered.

Not Charles - he would never try that, has never tried that, and for this Erik is grateful.

Eventually the metal moves toward him, waking him up from a light doze. Erik turns his head, blinks sleepily at the door as it swings open on silent hinges to admit Charles - Charles, and his smile, and the sheer power of his presence.

Erik can’t help but try and move toward him, irresistible gravity, pulling at him even when he’s held fast.

He tries his best, though, and his reward is Charles coming to him - at last, Erik thinks, eyes wide.

Charles is mostly respectably dressed but his crisp starched shirt does not quite cover the huge purple bruise at his throat.

If Erik squints, he thinks he might still be able to make out the livid little marks that his teeth left in that expanse of pale and freckled skin.

He shivers, then, and the bedframe rattles with his movements, and Charles’s serene smile changes into something more beautiful, and distinctively filthier.

It’s not until Charles is naked - deep and blotchy red flush all over him, down from the broad shoulders and almost to his waist, to his hips - that Erik becomes aware of his own bared skin. That he’s been exposed to Charles, _for_ Charles, all this time - his body just a metaphor for the rest of him, for his mind - everything that has belonged to Charles perhaps since the night when Erik first went down willingly to his knees.

 _Since before then,_ Charles corrects. He seems amused, even as he takes his time in joining Erik in bed. He paces languidly around the room, stopping every now and then to bask in the sunlight and its faint warmth. _You were mine in the water, and you were mine even as you tried to catch Shaw._

Every word is true, and no one knows that Erik belongs to Charles better than Erik himself.

Even if both he and Charles are doing their best to convey the exact opposite impression.

There is a reason for these silken restraints, for the marks on Charles’s skin. There is a reason for Charles’s bracelet, slender silver clasped skin-tight around his wrist - people think of it as a substitute for a collar, but both Charles and Erik know it’s the other thing entirely.

In this room one dominates and one submits, and that is all that the world needs to know. Who is who is none of anyone else’s business.

Erik waits with bated breath, now, for Charles’s kiss: swift and incendiary and possessive, and he doesn’t swallow down his moan, doesn’t hold back from straining for more.

“Hmm, yes, more is always good, isn’t it,” Charles murmurs. “But it’s much better when I make you wait for it, when I make you _work_ for it. Would you like that? ...You can nod, you can tell me your answer. Do as you wish.”

Erik has not exactly been forbidden to speak - but they spent last night in a breathless charged sort of silence, fraught with need and crackling lust, and he wants more.

Still wants more, because of the aches that those long hours have left in his skin.

He meets Charles’s patient gaze and nods, deliberately - and he basks in the purely delighted expression that he gets in response, in the beautiful gift of Charles’s perfect smile.

It’s a smile that vanishes in the next second, that becomes something dark. It’s the last thing that Erik sees before Charles takes away his sight and all of his other senses, save touch.

This is bliss, is Erik’s last coherent thought. Charles is a drug, is his kind of poison, is ignition and kindling to his desperate need to be taken and overpowered and looked after.

 _Anything for you, beloved,_ Charles says. _Anything you ask for. Anything you want -_

At the sudden weight on his chest Erik feels his eyes fly open, feels his pupils blowing wide, though he can’t see a thing. Warmth and weight that can only be Charles, straddling him, bare skin. Rough and burning hands pinning Erik down, digging into his shoulders.

Sensation upon sensation: Erik can’t get enough, even as Charles whispers to him, terrible beautiful promises: _How long can you hold out? How long before you break? How much of this can you take, how much of me?_

The pleasure becomes pain becomes pleasure again, all the sweeter and sharper for the hurt.

He can _feel_ the bruises that Charles leaves on him, never anywhere visible, but always in places that Erik can’t stop thinking about even when they are in public, even when they are with the others. Vicious bite-marks up and down his ribs; fingerprint bruises just below his hips; a sloppy sucking kiss directly underneath his navel. Charles all but sinks his teeth into Erik’s calf.

Charles lavishes kisses right over Erik’s inner elbows even as his fingers pull and twist at Erik’s nipples, sharp enough that Erik bucks up and pleads incoherently for more.

Erik groans, long and low and fervent, and it might be Charles’s name and it might be a sound that means he’s just about _gone_ , when Charles takes his cock in: hot mouth, burning hand. Charles plays with Erik’s balls and then, eventually, slides that hand further - slick insistent press against Erik’s entrance, two fingers driving in all at once.

Erik doesn’t hear himself scream, since Charles still has him imprisoned and left only with his sense of touch, and it’s more than enough to drive him over the edge and it will never be enough to satisfy him - he wants more, more, and he can hear himself repeating that and Charles’s name over and over in his mind.

 _Beautiful,_ Charles thinks at him.

Erik has a split-second to brace himself for what happens next: the image in his mind of what he looks like now, what they look like now. Both of Charles’s hands are now busy - now there is a fist around Erik’s cock and now there are three fingers buried in Erik to the knuckles - and every movement is delicious torment, every breath pushes Erik closer and closer to the edge.

And Charles hasn’t exactly been subtle in taking control of Erik’s mind - Erik can feel his own pleasure centers, locked in place by Charles. _You can’t come, I won’t let you, not until I think you’re ready._

Erik whines, loud and shameless.

 _Convince me,_ Charles taunts, and then Charles’s touch is gone, and Erik wants to weep over the loss until he can see again, Charles letting him have his sight, and this is what Charles is doing: he’s lining himself up over Erik, slicking himself up, getting ready to sink down onto him.

The scream in Erik’s head seems to echo for a long, long moment when he’s fully in Charles.

Erik surges up, desperate for it, and Charles holds him down and fucks himself at his own pace, slow sweet rise and fall, and Erik’s body is doing the taking but he feels more and more owned with each breath.

He is completely unprepared for the moment when Charles releases him from all of his bonds - he can see again, he has all his senses back, and he presses further into the hands at his shoulders even as he grabs Charles’s hips and pushes into him, brutal pace, until he falls over the edge and he doesn’t even have the breath to scream as orgasm finally rolls over him.

Afterwards, Erik is covered in sweat and come, has his senses back. He is soothed by Charles’s thoughts and Charles’s hands making sure that he’s okay, that his injuries are only superficial.

“You could make them more permanent,” he offers when he catches his breath.

Charles grins. “Maybe someday, my love. Like I said, you’re going to have to convince me.”

Erik huffs out an exhausted laugh, lets Charles curl around him, falls into welcome warm oblivion.  



End file.
